


Like Poison In My Veins

by Uncommon_Lamp



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Anatole lowkey sucks, Confessions, Foiled Confessions, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I think we can all agree that they're both bi, Idolism, Light Angst, M/M, No Sex, No Smut, Not Beta Read, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Poetic rambling, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, That Time Dolokhov and Anatole kissed, Unhealthy Relationships, We Die Like Men, but spicier, im sorry if this is trash, kind of, kind of dubcon kissing but not really, kind of sad, so much pining, some religeous imagery thrown in for poetic flavor, we were robbed of a cannon gay relationship in great comet and im still mad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uncommon_Lamp/pseuds/Uncommon_Lamp
Summary: Dolokhov may be in love, but it's certainly not the healthy kind.(Title is from Bitter Water - The Oh Hellos)
Relationships: Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin
Kudos: 10





	Like Poison In My Veins

The preparations were in place, the moon was high, soon enough Natalya Rostova would be Anatole's. Of course, that would only last a week or so. Anatole Kuragin was many things, but a faithful lover was not one. Dolokhov nearly pitied the girl, of course, he had helped plan the elopement, but he found the more he grew closer to the handsome gentleman his soul felt all the more tarnished. It wouldn't be the first time his friend had fallen instantly in love, it wouldn't be the first time he carried her off to bed her and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But it didn't matter now, both parties claimed to be desperately in love, so in love, they were, who was he to question them?

Fyodor took his boots off the edge of the table, accidentally knocking some bills of paper money onto the rug. In his hand, he held 4 playing cards yet he forgot what game he and Anatole had started. They had been quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time, ever since he expressed his concern over the coming abduction.

Something would go wrong, he knew it. The girl was guarded by that lioness of a godmother night and day. No matter how deft his body, nor great his alleged love, Anatole Kurigan would only find crippling failure at the end of his passion. If only he'd left it there. Anatole simply scoffed and explained his plan again, to which Dolokhov had only increased the severity of his point. He wished everything that he didn't but he did. If he had just kept his mouth shut Anatole would still be at the table in the drawing-room, playing cards. Instead, he looked out through the window at the murky streets, saying nothing. If he recalled correctly, their argument had ended when the Kurigan had told him to burn in hell or something of that kind. That remark shouldn't have hurt him nearly as much as it did. But those words, his alluring face and beautiful eyes distorted by blind rage. It left his heart frail and damaged, distraught, betrayed in a sense.

He did not know why he felt so much for this man, why his opinion had so much sway over his heart. He was a slave to his charm, and although it was wrong, he couldn't help admiring him. The way he stood in the window, his strong shoulders and back turned on him. The candlelight highlighting the warm tones in his skin and the moon picking out strands of his golden hair and turning them a brilliant silver. Even in the position he was in, Dolokhov could still recognize the sharp curves of his jaw, his long fingers fidgeting and interlocking with one another. His gaze was so intense it seemed like he was willing the sky not to open its clouds, god knew he had that power over all that surrounded him already. He could stare at him for a century and still not tire. He sat with his head resting on his hand, in the most candid way it had been in a long time. His dark eyes glazed over and entirely entranced. He figured he should be dead or dreaming, either way, if there was a heaven above then he was certain he was in it. Staring at this elegance was a forbidden euphoria; the fruit of knowledge in his personal Garden of Eden, the kind of sheer divinity that was tangible enough to believe but was too worthy to be held by his hands. Was this what all of his young mistresses saw in him as well?

What he felt wasn't love, he was sure of it, but it wasn't standard attraction either. No. This was something else, something above these mortal concepts, something beyond words. The only possible definition that came to the young man's mind was worship. He was absolutely enraptured by him, he was beneath him. It sounded so unhealthy, poison to his blood like scalding honey down the throat; the sweetest agony you'd ever felt, well worth the pain. It was ridiculous to think of a fellow man so highly, such respects were reserved for the holy and pure forces beyond human understanding. Though Anatole, Anatole was an angel, a fallen creature like Lucifer himself; whose wings were singed black by his many earthly sins. Anatole's lust shone through his face like a tapestry of stained glass.

Anatole wore his merciless wrath as well as his blinding pride like a crown upon his head. Though, instead of the debauched figure, these transgressions would regularly produce, here stood a beacon of youthful ignorance, selfish and arrogant like the young Narcissus.

Though, like the late Grecian prince, he'd still have fellow sinners bowing to him, begging for his affections, falling victim to his seductive way. Falling on their swords, they'd break their backs trying to penetrate the cold shield of his heart, only to snap their spine in two from trying. It had only just occurred to Dolokhov that he was no different. Finally, Anatole spoke.

"The driver will be here soon, I'm going to wait outside, I'd wish for you not to join me." He said coldly. Fedya felt his heart sink, He'd never spoken to him so harshly before. Anatole turned to leave when in a moment of haste and desperation, Dolokhov grabbed his arm. Fedya was no idiot, if his friend cared enough to break free he could, but it didn't seem like he did. Anatole simply gave him a patronizing smirk and taunted him.

"Was I not clear, dear boy?"

Dolokhov furrowed his brow and turned his eyes away, focused on where his hand touched the sleeve of his coat. He was stunned, unsure of what to do next, all he knew was that he didn't want him to leave. Not without him. Fedya lost control of his senses, his caution. Without thinking, he placed his free hand on the man's shoulder and pressed his lips to his.

The act itself was tender, rich, and filled with his longing for the other man. It wasn't at all sinful or brash like he was used to. In fact, it was almost pure. This had meaning. This was real. Anatole was stunned, though he didn't show it. He didn't blush or implode into himself like a fair virgin, he just stood still. His bright blue eyes stared at his friend once he'd finished, his soft lips parted ever so slightly in their elegant way. It was then Dolokhov realized what he'd done. His eyes widened.

"Mon Cher, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over m-"

His apologies were cut off by the other gripping his hands in his and reconnecting their lips. Kuragin's fingers eventually trailed to his friend's chin and held it in place leaning further into him. Needless to say, Fedya's heart leaped instantly.

Anatole wasn't gentle, nor pure, nor anything he sincerely wanted. Instead of the many fantasies he had, if him stroking his hair or comfortingly caressing him, Anatole was rough. He was commanding. Dolokhov felt helpless in his strong arms, one held his shoulder firmly in place while the other kept his face in check. Ensuring he could hardly move, let alone pause for breath as he kissed him. Their tongues weaving around each other and Fedya's lips surrendering to the other's dominance, the man could barely think.

His back rubbed up against something hard; he'd been so wrapped up in the kiss that he couldn't even feel Anatole slowly backing him against the drawing-room wall. His ocean blue eyes meeting his again, hypnotic in their own way.

Everything around them faded away completely, all he knew was his arms around him and his head hit the wall as Anatole pinned him to it. This was anything but loving, anything but pure. It was nothing but a blinding, violent passion. Some kind of raging wildfire that had him surrounded on all sides; eventually it would consume him, leaving only his ashes.

He knew this was how Anatole treated all of his single passions. He'd burn them up like kindling until he was finished. Dolokhov knew, somewhere deep in his heart he'd be tossed aside as well. When the night ended his old friend would be long gone with his new love. He'd just become a memory to him if he was lucky. Even so, he'd rather live a night as a sinner than hope to see the eternal light of heaven. It was far from what he desired, this man wasn't the kind who would give that to him. He wasn't the type who would ever take the time to love or to cherish.

Though whatever twisted shadow of that affection was enough to fill part of his void, and if it wasn't, he was doomed. 


End file.
